


Part of the Team

by Vagabond



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Kind of Canon Compliant, Kisses, M/M, Rusco, but not really, manly arguments
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-05
Updated: 2015-04-05
Packaged: 2018-03-21 07:45:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3683925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vagabond/pseuds/Vagabond
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lionel Fusco hasn't heard from Team Machine in over a week, so he decides to knock down Reese's door to get to the bottom of it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Part of the Team

**Author's Note:**

  * For [k2merc](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=k2merc).



> For k2merc! She made me the cutest mini quilt and in return I have written her a mediocre piece of fanfiction. Sorry it didn't get smutty...but it was flirty!

Lionel Fusco pounded on the door, the rhythm almost matching the thump of his heart against his chest. 

“Damnit, Riley. Open up the door.” 

He stopped hitting the worn wood long enough to listen for sounds coming from the other side of it. There was something rustling and the tell-tale click of dog nails against hard floors. With a thud, followed by a soft whine, he assumed the dog had slipped in a dash to the door. It covered up the sound of feet, so when the door finally opened, Lionel took a startled step backwards. 

“Lionel,” John greeted evenly. He looked rough. Normally well kept hair was tousled as if he’d just rolled out of bed. There was a clear favoring of his right side, indicating some sort of injury, and Lionel’s lips turned down into a deeper frown. “Something I can help you with, Detective?” 

“Yeah, you can start by telling me where the hell you’ve been.” Lionel took a chance and pushed past John who grimaced and shut the door once they were both clear of it. Bear trotted at Lionel’s heels and sniffed at the back of his pant leg. Once they were far enough into the apartment, Lionel turned on his heels and stared John down. 

“Busy, Lionel. I took some much needed paid time off and the Captain didn’t seem too concerned.” 

“Yeah, and knee-capping has gone down eighty-percent since you’ve been out of commission, imagine that.” The irritation bit at his skin as Lionel tried to keep from raising his voice. “You can’t just vanish without any word from you or glasses. Not after-”

An embarrassing noise was ripped from him as John stepped quickly into his space and shoved him hard against the wall. The other man leaned in, eyes narrowed. 

“Not after what, detective?” There was a dangerous note in John’s voice. He sounded like a man in pain and held the posture of a wounded animal. Maybe his wound wasn’t just physical. 

“What happened to your leg?” Lionel decided to switch topics and swallowed hard when John’s hand moved to rest against his throat in a quiet threat. 

“Flesh wound,” John answered and cocked his head to the side, “did you come here just to check up on me, or was there something actually important?” 

Thankfully, he dropped his hand and stepped back out of Lionel’s space. He let out the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding and stayed where he was against the wall. His eyes roamed over John again, taking him in, trying to figure out what the hell had happened. John disappeared nearly a week ago and Lionel hadn’t heard anything from him or from Harold. Even Coco Puffs had kept her distance for some reason. Was he suddenly off limits? Was he no longer part of the team? 

Those were the sorts of thoughts that had been running through his head during his shifts sitting across from an empty desk. He’d asked the Captain about it and she had informed him that John had taken some time off due to personal reasons. She hadn’t known anything more, so that was all he’d gone off of. Like a good soldier, Lionel waited to hear from anyone about what the next step was. Shaw’s loss still weighed heavily on him, but there was more work to do even without her there to help them. There was still a city to save, maybe even the world. 

Why was he the only one who seemed able to stay on point these days? 

When he stepped out of his thoughts and back into the present, he found John watching him with unshielded eyes. There was enough concern there to put Lionel at ease, though it was almost immediately extinguished as John turned and made his way carefully into the kitchen. If Lionel had to guess, he’d have to say there was some sort of wound on John’s leg. Nothing too serious since the leg was still weight bearing, but something which required loose sweat pants that hung off of the other man’s frame. 

“Did you get shot?”

With a grim flash of teeth, John reached up into the cupboard and dragged down two mugs. He then grabbed the kettle off of the stove and began to fill it with water. Once it was full, it was placed back on the stove and a burner was flicked on to high. With that task complete, he leaned against the counter, clearly keeping weight off of the injured leg. 

“Yes.” John stared him down. 

“Care to elaborate there, mystery man? If you don’t, I’m going to assume you accidentally shot yourself in the leg cleaning one of your guns.” 

He took pride in the flash of irritation his comment was able to draw out of John. Lionel still knew how to strike a nerve, even though John was far better at it. He waited to see what sort of smart retort would come falling from the other man’s lips, but nothing came. Silence just stretched between them. The air was heavy, like damp denim clinging to his legs after he’d tripped and fallen in a fountain. Lionel’s amusement quickly faded back into concern. 

For a long moment they just watched each other, and Lionel figured it was okay.

“Are you at least taking care of yourself?” Lionel asked and glanced around John. His eyes settled conveniently on the slowly heating kettle. 

“I’ve had worse than a gunshot.” 

“I wasn’t necessarily talking about the gun shot,” Lionel shot back and finally looked back at John. “It has been hard on all of us, but if you think it means we stop doing what we were doing…” 

“It doesn’t mean we stop, it just means we become more careful about who we let in.”

“Like me,” it dawned on him just then, as John said those words. Lionel hadn’t heard from them because they hadn’t wanted to include him. The thought sparked a well of anger and he clenched a fist and scowled. “You don’t get to decide that. Not you, not glasses. You brought me into this, and I’m staying. I know what we’re up against.” 

“We’re going to die, Lionel,” John admitted, his voice low and even. “We’re going to die doing this. Like Carter, probably like Shaw. You have a family, a job; you have things to lose because you’re still alive.” 

“So you and glasses just made the decision for me, then? You’re off putting yourself at a higher risk because we all might die, and you assume that I didn’t understand that? I became a cop knowing I might die. This is no different.” 

The kettle began to whistle, temporarily diffusing the tension in the room. Lionel watched as John wordlessly pulled a couple teabags out of a box on the counter and dropped them into the mugs. He then proceeded to pour the boiling hot water over them until each mug was nearly full. The kettle was returned to an unused burner as John took his time moving the tea bags to aid in the steeping of the tea. 

Lionel decided it was probably a terrible idea, but he slowly approached. The other man’s shoulders tensed in what must have been anticipation. He just stood in John’s space for a moment before he reached out to rest a hand against his back. Lionel’s fingers curled in John’s shirt with a certain familiarity he tried to forget in the light of day. A gentle tug managed to get John to turn, and the next thing he knew the other man’s lips were pressed to his own. 

The kiss was bruising and possessive. John bit his lower lip and sucked on it. The heat of it was overwhelming and Lionel opened his mouth to allow John to further claim it. With the tea practically forgotten, John maneuvered them around so Lionel was pushed against the counter uncomfortably. A moment later he made a distressed sound and grimaced. John pulled back, a pained look on his face. 

“Let me look at it?” Lionel requested, a little breathless from the sudden pounding of his heart. 

“I know what I’m doing.” 

“You always seem to think you do, anyway.” Lionel ignored the scathing look on the other man’s face in favor of glancing around the apartment. “Go sit down, I’ll bring you the tea.”

John hesitated but finally gave in and limped over to the couch. It was painful to watch and each wincing step made Lionel uncomfortable. Once the other man lowered himself onto the couch, Lionel turned to retrieve the tea and walked over to John. He set both mugs on the coffee table in front of the couch and then took a seat beside his partner. They both leaned back into the soft leather and stared at the wall ahead of them, silent. 

“It grazed me,” John finally broke the blanket of silence resting over them, “missed anything important. The bullet was through and through. What hurt was trying to run on it afterward.” 

“And you seem to think you don’t need me on the team?” Lionel asked jokingly, “look at the trouble you get into when I’m not there.” 

“How did I ever survive before meeting the great Lionel Fusco?” John replied dryly.

Lionel bumped John’s elbow with his own and stared at his tea, watching as the steam rose steadily. He nearly jumped out of his own skin when a warm weight rested against his side and a familiar pair of lips brushed the sensitive spot just behind his ear. In that moment he realized just how much he’d missed that mouth. 

“I try to protect what is mine, Lionel,” John murmured, his breath hot against Lionel’s neck as he continued to press warm, teasing kissing along the skin there. “I don’t want to risk your life.” 

“I think I’m in a pretty good position to choose whether or not to risk my own life, thanks.” He swallowed hard when John turned himself so that one arm was along the back of the couch while he leaned forward with the other to rest a strong hand on Lionel’s thigh. 

“Why don’t you let me protect you?” 

Lionel spread his legs a little bit and groaned when John’s hand rested over his crotch and squeezed. 

“Because I’m a grown-ass man who doesn’t need another grown-ass man to keep tabs on him.” 

“I seem to recall a number of times you could have used my protection.” 

Images of being tied to a chair and beaten while his son’s life was threatened danced through Lionel’s head. He grimaced and closed his eyes to try and chase away the memories. John’s hand moved to his thigh and squeezed gently, almost fondly. 

“You’re a real piece of work,” Lionel grumbled. 

“That’s a bit like the pot calling the kettle black,” John replied. Lionel turned his head and John leaned in to steal a kiss. 

“Stop trying to get me worked up. You’re not in any condition to follow through. You’re also not going to distract me from the fact you still haven’t conceded that I’m going to be a part of this team.” 

The other man sat back, his arm still around the back of the couch. It provided Lionel with the comfort of being in John’s space. It was a sign that they were still talking, that John wasn’t about to close himself off and dismiss the conversation. Lionel leaned ever so slightly more into John’s space, just enough that he was slightly pressed against him. 

“I know you think you’re going to lose me,” Lionel pointed out when he didn’t receive a response from John. “We’re all probably going to lose each other at some point, but it doesn’t mean that I’m not in it for the long haul.”

“Are we talking about the mission, Lionel?”

“We’re talking about a lot of things, the mission being one of them.”

John pinned him with a scrutinizing gaze. It wasn’t the first time Lionel had seen that look on the other man’s face. That had been the night John shoved him onto a cheap hotel room bed after Lionel had flown across the country to find him. He’d looked at him in a similar way, evaluating him, as if he was trying to decide if Lionel was real. 

“Drink your tea,” Lionel instructed gently. “You’re injured, you’re probably tired, and I know I’m tired. There’s time to talk, because I’m not going anywhere.” 

John’s shoulders eased slightly and his entire posture relaxed. Lionel wasn’t going to be a threat that evening. He leaned forward and brushed an uncharacteristically gentle kiss to Lionel’s temple before resting back against the couch and reaching for the remote. 

They sat in a comfortable silence and sipped their tea as the news droned on quietly in the background.


End file.
